


Conversations Without Words

by MiaCooper



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Canon Continuity Fuck-up Fixed, Competition, F/M, Gen, Implied Endgame Fix-It, J/C Cutthroat Fiction, Prompt Fic, Set pre-s07e24 Renaissance Man, dialogue prompt, picture prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-14
Updated: 2017-09-14
Packaged: 2018-12-20 19:44:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11927934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiaCooper/pseuds/MiaCooper
Summary: “It’s often just enough to be with someone. I don’t need to touch them. Not even talk. A feeling passes between you both. You’re not alone.” — Marilyn Monroe





	1. Now - Stardate 54885.7

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Talsi74656](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talsi74656/gifts).



> Written for the Alpha group Round 1 in talsi74656’s “J/C Cutthroat Fiction” comp, to the Marilyn Monroe quote above.
> 
> Also written for Helen8462’s Prompt Sabotage to [this image](https://flic.kr/p/WbFmAj).
> 
> Many many thanks to Helen8462 and carlynroth for their excellent beta'ing.

* * *

 

“Where did you find strawberries?”

Chakotay indicated her bowl as he slid into his seat at the table nestled into the corner of the mess hall. Kathryn Janeway looked up to offer him a smirk.

“It seems Mr Chell is taking his new role seriously, Commander. Or he’s hoping to get on the captain’s good side.”

“Apparently so.” Chakotay pretended to be piqued as he lifted a spoonful of lumpy green goo to his mouth. “I don’t suppose I could convince Chell it’s just as important to suck up to the first officer?”

“Depends what’s in it for him.” Janeway lowered her lashes as she selected a particularly succulent strawberry from her bowl and rested it on her lower lip. Her lips parted and her tongue darted out to taste.

Chakotay’s spoon halted halfway to his mouth, green sludge dripping slowly from it back down into his dish. “Well,” he managed, “if Chell expects me to give him a show like that, he’s going to be disappointed.”

“Too bad.” Janeway bit delicately into the fruit. “I guess you’ll have to go without.”

He shook his head at her sly smile. “You don’t play fair, Captain.”

“You’re only just figuring this out, Commander?”

“Oh, no, trust me, I’m quite the aficionado of the devious tactics of Kathryn Janeway.” Chakotay gave up on his slime porridge and darted out a hand to steal one of her strawberries. “I’ve even learned a thing or two.”

“Hey,” she mock-protested, slapping lightly at the thieving hand.

Chakotay grinned at her as he bit into the strawberry. “Didn’t you ever learn to share, Kathryn?” he mumbled through a mouthful.

She sipped her coffee, trying not to smile. “I’d share, but what’s in it for me?”

His answering smile was sly. “Anything you want. You know you only have to ask.”

“In that case,” she couldn’t believe she was letting this continue past the blurred line they usually drew short of, “report to my quarters at 2200 hours and I’ll state my request.”

She watched him go still for a moment, but when he spoke, his voice was low and silky. “I’ll bring the wine.”

Several tables away, someone dropped a fork with a clatter and Janeway jumped a little, flushing as she remembered they were in the mess hall. Clearing her throat, she picked up her padd. “Shall we get on with those reports, Commander?”

“Aye Captain,” he answered, amusement a low undercurrent in his voice.

The gentle silence that settled over their table expressed itself in the curled corners of their lips as they passed padds back and forth without a word.

* * *

 

Across the mess hall, Tom Paris turned away from watching the command team and rolled his eyes at Michael Ayala. “Why don’t they just kiss already?”

“How do you know they haven’t?” Ayala muttered, then shut his mouth with a snap.

Paris narrowed his eyes. “What do you know that you’re not telling me?”

“Uh-uh.” Ayala folded his arms. “You’re a bigger gossip than the EMH, Paris. Besides, we have work to do.”

“Fine,” Paris grumbled, returning his attention to the padd he held. “Okay, here’s an easy one. How long would it take to bring the ship to a full stop if you’re at warp 6.7?”

Paris watched the frown creasing Ayala’s forehead as he ran the mental calculations. “Seventy-eight seconds using standard protocols, but you could make it in fifty-one if you doubled the intermix ratio.”

“Nice.” Paris marked off a note on his padd. “Okay, let’s say we’re in battle against two Romulan interceptors. If you’re at three-quarters impulse and the captain orders evasive pattern beta-four, what flight vector would you calculate in order to avoid both attacking ships?”

“If she orders pattern beta-four, it probably means both vessels are coming straight at us from fore and aft, so we’d want to pull a loop dive and come up behind the rear ship. Vector two-seven-five mark three-three should do it, but you’d have to pull up on a one-eight-zero heading.”

“Not bad,” Paris said, sipping from his cup of raktajino.

“It’s a trick question, though, right?”

“Why do you say that?” Paris kept his face blank.

“Romulan interceptors would never attack that way. They’re too heavy and don’t have the manoeuvrability. If they blew us into space dust, they’d never get out of the way quickly enough to avoid colliding with each other.”

“Top marks, Lieutenant,” Paris grinned. “Okay, for the bonus round. You’re flying _Voyager_ within a solar system that has an ultritium-rich asteroid field ringing the fifth planetoid. We’re being attacked by three Cardassian Hideki fighters. What course would you set and which evasive manoeuvres would you recommend?”

Ayala stared into the distance as he considered his reply. “Hideki fighters are a little less than half the size of _Voyager_ but about equivalent in the way they handle at impulse, so playing dodgems in the asteroid belt is only going to prolong the agony. What I’d do is lure them in and line ‘em up behind me using evasive manoeuvre alpha-six so the tactical officer could detonate a photon torpedo on one of the largest asteroids. If the yield is large enough, it should destabilise the ultritium deposits and cause a chain reaction that’ll blow the Cardassians to kingdom come.”

“Okay, I’m impressed.” Paris laid his padd on the table between them. “I think you’re officially ready to take the conn.”

Ayala smirked back. “About time.”

“Hey, I had to be sure. Just because you can aim straight with a phaser rifle doesn’t mean you can fly my ship.”

“Your ship, huh?” Ayala flicked his gaze toward the corner table. “Don’t let the captain hear you say that. You might lose that shiny little pip again.”

“Look who’s talking,” Paris shot back, narrowing his eyes in speculation. “You know, I never did find out how you got yourself demoted back then.”

“None of your business,” Ayala said flatly.

“Oh, come on,” Paris whined. “I didn’t see you serving any brig time and you got your pip back quicker than I did, so it can’t have been as bad as trying to take out the Monean refineries.”

Ayala set his mouth in a stubborn line.

“It was on that mission to Exitia, wasn’t it?” Paris rested his elbows on the table. “When you and those two” – he jerked his chin toward the corner table – “got caught in that earthquake. She was pretty mad with both you and Chakotay when you all got back to the ship. So, are you gonna spill or not?”

“Not.”

Paris opened his mouth to press him and Ayala held up a hand.

“I’m not spilling, Paris, and that’s final. Just leave it, okay?”

“Morning, lieutenants.”

Ayala startled slightly as Chakotay’s hand landed on his shoulder. “Morning, boss.”

“You ready for your first shift at the helm, Mike?”

“Ready as he’ll ever be,” Paris chimed in. “Don’t worry, I’ll be at secondary navigation, ready to take over in case he screws it up.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Ayala said dryly.

The captain wandered up beside Chakotay, juggling an armful of padds and a fresh cup of coffee. “If I’m not mistaken, gentlemen, we’re all due on the bridge in the next five minutes.”

“Yes, ma’am,” chorused Paris and Ayala, standing.

Janeway’s mouth quirked to one side. “Good to see the pair of you are taking your duties so seriously. Keep it up, lieutenants.” She subtly stressed the title.

Chakotay relieved her of her burden of padds, tucked them under one arm and offered her the other. “Shall we, Captain?”

Ayala stood back politely as the command team moved toward the mess hall exit. When he glanced back at Paris he saw the helmsman watching him knowingly.

“There’s a story there,” Paris leaned in to whisper. “I know you know it. And I’m not giving up until you tell me everything.”

Ayala rolled his eyes in obvious dismissal, but frowned as Paris moved past him.

He was good at keeping his mouth shut. But Paris was a champion at ferreting out the information people would prefer to keep secret.

And this wasn’t his secret to tell.


	2. Then - Stardate 50133.5

“Commander, over here,” Janeway called.

Chakotay flipped his tricorder shut and got to his feet, ambling over to where the captain knelt by the mouth of a cave. A faint breeze reached him, and he peered inside. The entrance was wide, but he could see it branched off into several tunnels.

“What’ve you found?”

“Dilithium traces, among other minerals,” she answered. “But even more interesting is this.”

She indicated a rust-coloured indentation on a section of the cave wall.

“That doesn’t look naturally occurring.” Intrigued, Chakotay scanned it, and his tricorder trilled. “Nope,” he stated. “This pigment is a manufactured compound, and the depression in the rock appears to be man-made, as well. I’m reading the age of the compound as around two thousand years old.”

“Fascinating,” Janeway murmured. “Do you think there was a civilisation here once?”

“I haven’t seen any other signs of it. It could have been visiting aliens.” Chakotay straightened, peering inside the cave. “Permission to investigate, Captain?”

“Granted. In fact, I’ll come with you. The dilithium traces are stronger here – we might find a vein inside those tunnels.” She tapped her combadge. “Janeway to Ayala.”

~Ayala here.~

“Lieutenant, the commander and I are about to enter a cave system to investigate possible signs of an extinct civilisation. We’re reading a dilithium source and a variety of other minerals. I’m not sure if communications will be affected.”

~Understood, Captain. My team can reach your position in ten minutes.~

“There’s no need, Lieutenant. Hold position and continue your scans.”

Chakotay was already inside the cave, and Janeway moved to follow him.

~Captain, there’s evi… seismic activ… I’d…~

“Lieutenant?” Janeway returned to the cave mouth. “You’re breaking up. Repeat your last transmission.”

~Yes, Captain. It looks like there’s been a seismic event in this region in the last few months. It might have affected the cave structure.~

“Understood, Mr Ayala. We’ll be vigilant. Janeway out.”

Chakotay was already out of sight by the time Janeway ducked back into the tunnel. “Hold up, Commander,” she called. “Set your tricorder to pick up any seismic activity. Mr Ayala claims there’s been an earthquake here recently.” She paused. “Where are you?”

“In here,” his voice floated back and she followed the echo.

He was crouched by a section of the cave wall that had clearly been hollowed out. As his sims beacon played over the wall, Janeway could make out more of the rust-coloured patterns. Chakotay smiled at her over his shoulder as she bent beside him.

“What is it?” she wondered.

“If I had to guess, I’d say this was an altar. See the placement of those stones?” He indicated a ring of smooth, evenly-sized rocks. “And those engravings, or paintings, look symbolic. Whoever these people were, they were humanoid.”

Janeway directed her own flashlight to the cave paintings; she could make out humanoid figures with arms raised to what appeared to be twin suns. “This is a binary system,” she noted. She rested a hand on his shoulder as they gazed at the paintings. “There’s some kind of animal there,” she pointed. “Domesticated, perhaps?”

“Or sacrificial,” Chakotay offered. “Hard to tell.”

A slight shiver went through her, and Chakotay reached up to squeeze the hand resting on his shoulder. She shot him a quick smile. “I suppose humanoid cultures everywhere have their dark pasts.”

“I wonder what happened to them,” he murmured.

“Perhaps some kind of extinction event,” she mused. “A disease, possibly. Or maybe this planet was far more seismically active two thousand years ago.” She pushed lightly off Chakotay’s shoulder to stand. “Let’s move in further. We might find out more, and the mineral traces are stronger in this direction.”

“Aye, Captain.” He took her outstretched hand, rising gracefully to his feet.

They walked on in silence. Janeway’s attention was on her tricorder – the dilithium vein she’d detected travelled along the tunnel walls, growing denser as they walked – but her mind was partly occupied with contemplating the man beside her.

It had been a tumultuous time recently for the two of them. Three months alone together on New Earth had wrought changes in their relationship that she was still having difficulty defining. And then they’d been dumped on a far less idyllic planet by Seska and her Kazon allies. In the few weeks since Hanon IV, she had barely begun to catch her breath, to figure out how to act around her first officer.

The main problem, she conceded, was that she didn’t know what he was to her anymore. He wasn’t just her second in command. Her friend, yes – her closest friend on board, perhaps the dearest friend she’d ever had. As for the rest of it – the complex, vigorous swirl of emotions he stirred in her – she didn’t know how to reconcile them.

Sooner or later she’d have to figure it out. As things stood, the only time she could bear to spend alone with him was when they were on ship’s business. She’d avoided reinstating their working dinners because after the padds were put away, sitting near him on her couch made her too uncomfortable, too aware of the heat that wavered between them. Even now, walking silently beside him as he shone his beacon over the cave walls, she was painfully attuned to his breathing, the easy loping grace of his stride, his scent –

Janeway’s train of thought broke off abruptly as her tricorder shrilled. “Dilithium,” she exclaimed. “Look at this, Chakotay. A large crystalline deposit, and it’s almost pure.”

Chakotay peered over her shoulder at the tricorder readings. “Can we beam it out or will we need to send down mining teams?”

She tapped her combadge experimentally, receiving only a dull chirp that told her _Voyager_ wasn’t receiving her hail. “Something’s blocking communications. It’s unlikely the transporter will work through the interference. We’ll have to hike back to open air.”

As she turned, her beacon flashed over the cave wall opposite, and Chakotay grabbed her arm to hold it steady. “Look at that,” he breathed.

She stilled, following his gaze.

The entire wall was covered with what looked to her like an alien script, chiseled into the rock face, each design etched in different colours: ochre, indigo, white, dull green. Curlicued lines of writing spiraled out from a central image, a simple, geometric pattern that reminded her of a mandala.

“What do you make of it?” Her voice was hushed.

Chakotay glanced at the tricorder in his hand. “It’s roughly the same age as the other markings we’ve found but infinitely more complex, and we haven’t seen this much pigmentation in the other drawings. My guess is it has some kind of spiritual significance.” He shoved the tricorder into his belt and turned toward her, grasping her hand in both of his, face creased in a smile. “Kathryn, this is incredible. We should call a team down to …”

His voice trailed off as she stared down at her hand clasped in his own. When she looked up he was watching her face, his own expression vulnerable and wary.

“Chakotay,” she said softly, knowing she should pull away, unable to make herself do it.

He waited, and she could feel the tension in him.

_We can’t_ … but the thought was at odds with her actions; she found herself curling her fingers over his, her body drifting closer to him. By the time their lips met she had forgotten whatever protest she’d been intending to make.

* * *

 

Ayala’s tricorder beeped steadily, the two human biosigns easily traceable now that he was inside the caverns. He’d started for the caves as soon as he lost track of their combadge signals, and it looked like he was right on their heels now.

He rounded a bend, took in the scene before him and uttered an exclamation he was unable to muffle in time.

It startled the kissing couple in front of him enough to make them leap apart. The captain stumbled back a step, bringing a shaking hand up to her mouth. The commander tore his gaze from her, his head swinging toward the intruder.

Ayala shifted his feet nervously.

“Report, Lieutenant.” The captain couldn’t quite hide the husky edge in her voice, but her tone of command snapped Ayala back to his senses.

“Sorry for intruding, ma’am. When we lost contact and you disappeared from sensors I thought it would be prudent to come and find you.” He cleared his throat. “I, uh, I’ll head back to my team…”

As he began to shuffle backward, all three of their tricorders chirruped. Janeway frowned at her display.

“I’m getting readings that indicate seismic instability. I think we should –”

Before she could finish her sentence, the tunnel roof caved in.

* * *

 

The dust was so thick Ayala couldn’t draw a breath without choking on it. Brushing at the small chunks of rock that covered his uniform, he pushed up to his knees.

“Captain,” he rasped, trying to peer through the particulates in the air. “Commander?”

“Over here.” Janeway’s reply trailed off into a fit of coughing. “Are you all right, Lieutenant?”

Ayala ran a quick self-assessment. “I’m fine, ma’am.”

A low masculine groan punctuated their exchange.

“Chakotay,” he heard Janeway call urgently. “Where are you? Are you hurt?”

“Think I broke my leg.” The commander sounded disgruntled.

Ayala scrambled in the direction of his voice, switching on his wrist beacon. Chakotay lay on his side, a large rock obscuring the lower half of his left leg. Janeway knelt beside him, feeling carefully beneath it as Chakotay tried not to flinch.

“Help me get this boulder off him,” Janeway ordered Ayala. He placed the beacon on the ground and got a solid grip on the rock. On her count, they heaved the rock away. Chakotay let out a string of untranslatable curses.

Janeway had her tricorder out and was modifying it to the basic medical setting. “It’s broken all right,” she said. “Two fractures of the fibula, one to the tibia. Lieutenant, do you have a medkit?”

“No, ma’am. I’m sorry.”

She sighed and began stripping off her jacket. “Without transporters, we’ll have to splint your leg and carry you back to the cave mouth, Commander. I’m afraid this is going to hurt.”

Ayala cast about for a suitable splint as Janeway tugged off her turtleneck and tore it into strips. “Will this do, Captain?”

She inspected the long, slender shard of rock. “It’ll do for now. Hold him steady, Mr Ayala.”

Ayala nodded, bracing his arms under Chakotay’s shoulders.

“Ready?” Her gaze fixed on the commander’s face until he gave her a short nod, and then she held the shard against his calf, wrapping the fabric strips around it as efficiently as she could.

By the time she’d finished, Chakotay’s face was drawn and colourless.

“All right?” she asked him softly.

Ayala wondered if she realised she was cupping the commander’s cheek, or that her expression was tender.

“Fine.” Chakotay gave her a tight-lipped smile. “The sooner we get out of here, the better. Ayala, give me a hand up here.”

“Chakotay, you shouldn’t risk putting any weight on your leg,” Janeway protested.

“You two can’t carry me the whole way back.” Chakotay gestured Ayala forward and slung an arm around the lieutenant’s neck. “Let’s go,” he said when he was upright, holding his injured leg off the ground, and the pair began to shuffle.

Janeway gathered up their fallen equipment and made to follow them.

This time there was no warning. Not even a spike on the tricorder. Only a faint, low rumble like the roar of a faraway river, and then the ground collapsed under their feet.

* * *

 

Ayala drifted back to consciousness to the sound of the captain’s name being called with increasing desperation.

“Chakotay?” he rasped through a throat clogged with dust. “You okay?”

“Fine,” was the tight response. “The captain isn’t answering. Where is she?”

Ayala heaved over to his side, paused to wait for the nausea to die away, then got slowly to his feet. He played his sims beacon over the cave, noting with trepidation that its configuration had changed. Where once there had been open space there was rubble. And – a hand, small and pale, extending limply from beneath the fallen rock.

“Shit,” he muttered, groping his way over boulders toward it. “Captain? Captain, can you hear me?”

Silence. Ayala bent to press his fingers to the extruding wrist, praying for the steady beat of her pulse.

“ _Ayala_!”

There was unconcealed fear in Chakotay’s voice.

“I’ve found her,” the lieutenant called back.

“What’s her condition?”

_Come on_ , Ayala pleaded silently, fumbling for a pulse.

There it was – weak, thready, but – _thank God_ – unmistakable. “She’s alive,” he told Chakotay. “But she’s buried under a rockfall. I’ll have to dig her out.”

He heard a pained grunt and the sound of something dragging over the debris-strewn ground.

“Stay back, boss,” Ayala warned as he rolled the largest boulders away. “I don’t want any rocks accidentally landing on you.”

“Forget it.” Chakotay’s voice was strained as he hauled himself over to the rubble, one leg dragging uselessly behind him. Ayala heard him suck in a breath as Chakotay came close enough to assess the situation. He propped himself up on one arm, using the other to clear away the loose scree in front of the fallen rock.

As they lifted and heaved and rolled, Ayala kept a wary eye on his unconscious captain. As far as he could tell, the largest rocks had missed her head and torso, but her lower body was pinned beneath a boulder it took all his fading strength to move. As it rolled away he caught his breath.

Her legs were bent at unholy angles and blood pooled ominously below her pelvis. Her face, he saw now, was unnaturally pale, and more blood matted her hair. She remained immobile, her fingers loosely curled like a sleeping child’s. He didn’t think he’d ever seen her look so vulnerable.

“Get a tricorder,” Chakotay bit out, and Ayala scrambled to find one.

Passing it over her body, he swallowed thickly.

“Report.” Chakotay didn’t take his eyes off the woman before them, though he reached out as if to take her hand, only hesitating at the last moment.

“It’s not good,” Ayala said quietly. “She has a severe concussion. Her legs and pelvis are broken in several places, and I’m picking up evidence of internal bleeding. I can’t tell which organs are damaged. She needs the Doc.”

There was the faintest of sounds, and both men leaned in close.

“Kathryn?” Chakotay asked in a tone so tender it made Ayala’s eyes prickle. “Can you hear me?”

She moaned again, and her fingers twitched. “Cha-”

“Don’t try to talk,” Chakotay said softly. “You’ve been injured, but we’re going to get you out of here.”

“Aya…” her question trailed off on a groan.

“I’m fine, ma’am,” Ayala said quickly.

There was an ominous chirp from the tricorder in his hand. He looked down at it quickly, then whispered to Chakotay, “More seismic instability.”

“Get … out…”

The men exchanged glances. “The transporters won’t work inside the cave, Captain,” Ayala volunteered. “I’ll run back to the exit and get _Voyager_ to send a team down.”

“No.” The captain’s voice hardened. “You … out. Both. Before … quake.”

“We’re not leaving you here.” Chakotay took her fingers carefully. He looked at Ayala. “Go now, Mike. I’m staying with her.”

“Belay … that.” It seemed inconceivable, but the captain had lifted her head, eyes half-open and fixed on Chakotay. “Both of you … out. Now.” Her throat worked and she started to shake, but the fierce glint in her eyes was undimmed. “That’s … an _order_.”

Neither moved.

Kathryn coughed, her gaze swinging toward Ayala, and he noted with alarm that dark-red blood spattered her lips. “Leave me … before … too late.”

“Ayala,” Chakotay warned. “Get her out of here.”

“What about you?”

“Forget about me. Save her.”

“No… save Cha- Chakotay,” Kathryn wheezed, glare turned on the lieutenant. “Direct … order. _Now_!”

Chakotay’s dark eyes fixed on Ayala’s.

_You owe me_.

Their years of silent communication and unspoken understanding meant Chakotay didn’t need to speak aloud.

Ayala turned back to the captain. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I can’t obey that order.”

He crouched to gather her into his arms as carefully as he could, and in the moment before she lost consciousness again, he saw Chakotay smile.


	3. Now - Stardate 54886.4

_Report to my quarters at 2200 hours._

What the _hell_ had she been thinking?

Kathryn Janeway rubbed her fingers in slow circles against her temples, closing her eyes. On the table before her, next to the ever-present stack of padds, a mug of coffee cooled slowly, its scent a soothing undertone to the myriad of less pleasant aromas in the mess hall.

It wasn’t as though she and Chakotay were strangers to late nights in her quarters – though of course nothing untoward had ever happened, much to the disappointment of many of her crew. _Well, almost nothing_ , she conceded. They’d indulged in plenty of flirting, several deep and personal conversations, occasional touches to the shoulder or hand, even a hug when one of them desperately needed it. She tried not to need it, though. Even a brief, comforting embrace from Chakotay had a way of setting her alight, of making her forget who she was and why extended physical contact with him was not a good idea.

And her invitation – in terms that were indirect, but that he could hardly misinterpret, knowing her as he did – to her quarters late at night for a glass of wine and … whatever … was an even worse idea.

Things had been much simpler before New Earth. She had known, of course, that he felt something for her, something a first officer shouldn’t feel for his captain. She’d felt it too, but had managed to bury it under her duty to the crew and her loyalty to Mark. But three months on that quarantine planet had changed everything.

_Nothing happened there_ , she tried to fool herself, and couldn’t help scoffing at her own delusion. They hadn’t become lovers in the physical sense – that much was true – but there was a world of possibility between that and ‘nothing’.

She had fallen in love with him. She’d tried to resist it, but he was, in the end, irresistible.

She’d hoped, when they returned to the ship, that those feelings would eventually bleed away, that time and trials would mute them into the warmth of friendship.

_And they have_ , she told herself fiercely. They’d worked hard to get to where they were today. Years of push-pull and jealousy and misunderstandings. Years of longing and heartache and lying wakeful in her bed with her gaze turned toward the bulkhead that separated them. Years of touches that drew back, uncompleted, of words that died unspoken on her tongue.

Years of pushing him away, and one single moment of weakness in a cave on the planet they had named Exitia, when she’d pulled him close and wished she could hold onto him and never let go.

And yet, they had also been years of certainty in his presence, of bolstering her flagging will at the touch of his hand on her shoulder. Years of laughter and teasing and the gentleness in his eyes. Of tender smiles and silent conversations, and moments of complete accord.

They were a seamless, effective command team and the best of friends, and anything else they might have been could never come to be. She knew it and he knew it, despite the long and sometimes difficult road they’d travelled to get to this point.

So whatever had possessed her to set upon that path again?

Janeway opened her eyes and sipped at her coffee. It was barely lukewarm; grimacing, she set it back down.

Through the large viewport, stars streaked toward and past her, each one a measure of their progress toward Earth. Earth, which had been her home, and which she now longed for as her deliverance. From the weight of her responsibilities to her ship and crew. From her enforced chastity, and the cage she kept around her heart although she ached to give it to another.

The stars blurred before her eyes as it dawned on her why she’d issued that flirtatious invitation to Chakotay this morning.

She’d felt him slipping away from her in recent months. Their customary touches to each other’s hands or shoulders had all but ceased, and their regular working dinners had begun to end earlier in the evening, at the point where they had previously drawn a line under the shop talk and moved on to more personal conversation.

And though they had each had their romantic dalliances in the past few years, none of them had been serious, and she had never felt as if his love for her had dimmed. Until now.

She didn’t think he had taken a lover. And yet, though he clearly still held affection for her, it wasn’t the same. They spent less off-duty time together, and even that was usually in the company of others. They’d stopped talking about topics that didn’t pertain to ship’s business. She couldn’t remember the last time he’d helped her contact her spirit guide. And a few weeks ago, not long after she’d come back from Quarra, he’d returned the copy of Dante’s _Inferno_ that she had lent him years before.

At the time, she’d refused to consider why that had felt like a slap in the face.

Now, with a clutch of her heart, she understood that she had interpreted it as a breakup.

The book had come to symbolise the part of her that he’d wanted to keep close. A little piece of her soul, a part of her life that had nothing to do with the captain; something precious she had shared with him and him alone. And, in a way, it had represented her letting go of Mark. Somehow she understood this without Chakotay ever having expressed it.

And then he’d given it back. He’d been letting her go, and it had terrified her.

So she’d flirted with him, and invited him to her quarters, and both of them had known that it meant more than simple friendship.

So what _did_ it mean? What did she want from him, and equally importantly, what was she willing to give?

* * *

 

“Mind if I join you, Captain?”

Startled out of her thoughts, Janeway straightened quickly in her chair.

“Of course not.” She tried to smile.

Tom Paris scrutinised her carefully as he slid into the seat opposite. She was paler than usual, her eyes shadowed, a frown pinched between them. _Trouble in paradise?_

“Should I be worried?”

“Excuse me?” Janeway’s gaze lifted from where it had been fixed on a droplet of coffee, spilled on the table’s surface.

Paris gestured at her untouched meal. “About lunch,” he clarified. “Chell trying to live up to Neelix’s reputation?”

“Oh.” Her gaze drifted back down and she picked up her fork, prodding listlessly at the jelly-like substance on her plate. “I’m sure it’s delicious; I’m just not particularly hungry.”

“Uh-huh.” Paris lifted a forkful to his mouth, tasting it tentatively. “It’s not bad, actually. But I’m sure Chell would find you something else if you asked. Anything for the captain, right?”

“Right,” she said absently, then, “I’m sorry, Tom, what did you say?”

“Nothing important.” Paris watched her unobtrusively for a moment longer. “So, Mike did okay on the bridge this morning.”

“Yes, he did.” She picked up her cold coffee, sipped, grimaced again and pushed it away.

“Guess I’d better watch out he doesn’t take my post,” Paris continued mildly. “Seeing as he outranks me, and all.”

Something in his voice made Janeway snap back to attention, her eyes sharpening. “Last I checked, you still had that second pip, Mr Paris.”

“For which I’m eternally grateful,” he answered smoothly. “I just meant he has seniority. It’s funny you should mention that though, Captain. Ayala and I were just talking about that this morning – how we’ve both lost and earned back a rank.”

Janeway’s eyebrow arched in warning. “A rank I’m certain you both want to keep.”

“Yes ma’am,” he replied smartly.

Her fingers, which had tightened on the edge of the table, relaxed a fraction.

“I’m curious, though,” Paris went on, and Janeway’s shoulders tightened again. “Everybody knows how I got busted down to ensign, but Mike wouldn’t tell me why _he_ got demoted.”

Her eyes were ice that gave nothing away, and Paris shrank visibly.

“Uh, but of course it’s none of my business,” he muttered. He glanced over her shoulder and hurriedly got to his feet, snatching up his plate. “Excuse me, Captain, I think somebody wants my seat. Commander,” he nodded as he made his escape.

Chakotay slid into Paris’ vacated chair and grinned at her. “What’s Paris up to now?”

Janeway swallowed, trying to compose herself. “Wanting answers to questions he shouldn’t ask.”

“Oh?” Chakotay cocked an eyebrow. “Gathering intel for his betting pool?”

“He had better not be, or so help me, I’ll bust him down to assistant bottle washer,” she muttered.

Chakotay was well practiced at assessing the moods and mind of Kathryn Janeway, and one glance at her whitened knuckles, tense jaw and otherwise expressionless face told him everything he needed to know. He leaned forward, his hand covering hers. “Kathryn, what is it?”

When she remained silent, he squeezed her hand gently.

“Talk to me.”

She raised her eyes to him slowly. “He wanted to know what happened when Ayala was demoted.”

“…Oh.”

“Yes,” she said, watching him closely.

“What did you tell him?”

“I didn’t tell him anything.” Her gaze dropped to their joined hands and her voice grew even quieter. “The strange thing is, I’d just been thinking about it.”

The low hum and chatter of the mess hall faded against the sudden roar in his ears. “Thinking about … what happened that day?”

Janeway nodded, trepidation in her eyes. “Among … other decisions I’ve made.”

“Decisions you regret?” he asked carefully.

She glanced away, lifting one shoulder in a half-shrug.

“Decisions…” Chakotay paused, “a decision about us?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

His other hand crept across the table, one finger tilting her chin back toward him. She was worrying her lower lip between her teeth. “Which decision, Kathryn?”

“The decision we made – _I_ made – after that mission to Exitia,” she replied. “The one I’ve tried so hard not to regret.”

She met his gaze, and he couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen her emotions so close to the surface. His fingers cupped her jaw, thumb stroking over her cheekbone, and her free hand came up to loosely clasp his wrist. Her eyes closed briefly as she leaned her cheek into his palm.

In the galley, a pan clattered to the floor and the sudden sound made them both jump as they remembered where they were. Chakotay’s hand dropped from her face.

“We’ll talk tonight,” he murmured, and she nodded, trying to control her smile.

* * *

 

Chakotay sat back in his chair and turned the discussion to crew rosters as they each picked at their lunch. Janeway kept up her end of the conversation with ease. It was a habit born of long practice: their ability to function smoothly as a team, to command the ship together, to work through the surface minutiae when the real communication was happening entirely in the subtext.

They didn’t need words to talk about the important things. They were carrying on a whole other conversation with their eyes.

She kept glancing at him, noting the spark in his eyes, the dimples that wanted to come out of hiding. How could she have forgotten how beautiful he was? How had she managed to convince herself, all these years, to stop looking?

In return, she noticed his gaze drifting over her face, caressing the lines of her shoulder and arm, his fingers twitching slightly where they lay beside her hand as if he almost couldn’t stop himself from reaching for her. And she wondered if this was renewed for him too – drinking her in, mentally cataloguing all the places he wanted to touch her – or if he’d been doing it all along and she had simply blinded herself to it.

She must have been staring a little too long, a little too obviously, because Chakotay cleared his throat, ducking his head to hide a grin. Janeway blushed, straightening in her seat.

“So we’ll transfer Celes to Sickbay on a permanent basis?” he asked, passing her a padd.

“What? Oh, yes.” Janeway pressed her thumb to the screen. “The Doctor says she’s turned out to be a competent medic.”

“Tom will be pleased.” Chakotay pointed with his chin, indicating the pilot, sitting a few tables away with Ayala. “The fewer shifts in Sickbay, the better, as far as he’s concerned.”

“Tom might start to worry he’s being replaced on all fronts.” Janeway leaned back in her chair. “A backup medic, a new backup pilot… what will he do with his time?”

“Probably get into trouble.”

“You make a good point.” Janeway smirked as she gathered up their stack of padds and got to her feet. “Well, playtime is over, Commander. We’d better get back to the bridge –”

She broke off abruptly as the ship bucked beneath her feet.

* * *

 

The first thing she became aware of was the sharp, dragging ache in her head. She moved her hand up to touch her temple and her fingers came away tacky and wet.

Janeway opened her eyes and squinted against the yellow glare of the mess hall lights.

“Captain,” said Tom Paris, leaning over her. “Please lie still. You’ve lost some blood and you have a nasty concussion.”

“What happened?” she croaked, wincing at the effort it cost her to speak.

Paris’s mouth twisted. “Turns out those power converters we picked up from the Saluvians last week don’t play nicely with _Voyager_ ’s systems. Some kind of power surge went through the secondary plasma conduit on this deck, and sent Chell’s stew pot flying across the mess hall. You were standing in its path. I’m afraid you took a direct hit to the head.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You have to be kidding me.”

“I’m afraid not. And the emergency medkit isn’t sufficient to heal your injuries. I need to get you to Sickbay.”

“Transporters are down,” came her first officer’s voice.

She turned instinctively toward it. A gentle hand brushed her face and she blinked, Chakotay’s worry-lined face coming into focus. Infinitesimally, her pain receded. He was there, so she knew she would be all right.

“We can carry her there,” she heard Ayala interject.

“Through the Jeffries tubes? Turbolift power is down too.” Chakotay took her hand carefully in his. “Hold on, Kathryn. I’m going to get the Doctor.”

“The ship,” she managed. “How much damage is there?”

“B’Elanna is assessing it now.”

“Casualties?”

“Just you.” Chakotay’s expression flashed rueful.

She started to struggle upright but was stopped by a firm hand on her shoulder.

“If you think you’re going to the bridge, you can think again.”

She shook her head a fraction, wincing at the way the movement jostled her skull. “Not me. You.”

“I’m not leaving you, Kathryn.”

Kathryn Janeway gathered every ounce of her strength to glare at him. “That’s a direct order.”

“Tuvok has it under –”

“Don’t make me demote you.” She gripped his hand, forcing his attention. “Because you know I will.”

Paris and Ayala exchanged a silent, eloquent glance over her head.

“I’ll stay with her,” Paris cut in.

“I can go to Sickbay and bring the Doctor back,” added Ayala.

“Go,” Janeway whispered, and still Chakotay hesitated. “ _Go_.”

He searched her eyes and read her conviction, but his reluctance to leave her was obvious as he released her fingers and stood.

“Keep me apprised on her condition,” he ordered Paris, his gaze still fixed on Janeway.

“Aye sir,” she heard Paris reply as she closed her eyes, overwhelmed with a sense of déjà vu.


	4. Then - Stardate 50134.2

_Kathryn_.

She was muffled in layers of wool, buried under a snowdrift. She felt warm, cocooned, safe.

_Kathryn, can you hear me?_

The voice was soft and faraway, and it reminded her of caramel and whiskey. It was calling to her. She strained through the enveloping layers to hear it.

_Kes, please, is she breathing?_

A sharp note of anxiety pierced her cotton wool cocoon. She thought to open her eyes, but it was so hard. Her eyelids were so heavy, and she was so sleepy…

_Captain!_

She shuddered into consciousness, and with it came searing bright light and pain. So much pain. She heard a groan that sounded like a wounded animal, and realised she was the one who’d uttered it.

“Easy,” came the gentle voice of her medic, one hand on her shoulder, then louder, “Doctor, she’s conscious.”

A light assaulted her eyes as the EMH bent over her. “Lie still, please. Pupils are unequal,” he tossed over his shoulder. “Captain,” he added, turning back as Kes slipped an instrument into his hand, “you’ve suffered severe injuries to your lower body. As soon as I’ve reduced your cranial swelling I’m going to sedate you for surgery.”

She tried to speak but could barely feel her lips moving.

“Commander Chakotay and Lieutenant Ayala are safe,” the Doctor anticipated her question. “Mr Paris is treating them for minor injuries. Now, Captain, please remain still,” and he pressed a hypospray to her neck.

* * *

 

When she woke an indeterminate time later she was aware of pain, but it was distant and fuzzy and she decided to pay it no mind. She flexed her fingers experimentally and felt that her left hand was held loosely in a warm grip.

She found that she could turn her head and open her eyes without the expected stab of agony, and was unsurprised by the face she saw.

“Hey,” Chakotay murmured, the taut lines of his jaw softening in a smile. “How are you feeling?”

Janeway coughed. “Thirsty.”

“Here.” He slid an arm behind her shoulders, propping her up as he held a straw to her lips. She drank gratefully.

“Chakotay,” she said as he took the cup away and eased her down again, “what happened down there?”

“We were caught in an earthquake,” he began, but she raised a hand.

“That part I know. How did we get out?”

“Ayala carried you out.”

“He disobeyed my order.” Her mouth tightened. “I told him to leave me behind.”

Chakotay’s fingers touched her chin, his eyes serious. “Nobody on this crew would have obeyed that order, Kathryn.”

“You could both have been killed,” she hissed. “It was too dangerous.”

“Kathryn.”

“ _Captain_.”

His eyes shuttered and he drew his hand away from her face.

“This,” she gritted, “is exactly why we can’t do this.”

“Do what?” he asked cautiously, though she could read in his eyes that he knew.

Nevertheless, she spelled it out for him.

“I will always value your friendship,” she emphasised, “but any … _closer_ relationship is out of the question. I have to put the safety of this ship and crew first. And so do you.”

She expected him to acquiesce, perhaps unhappily, but willingly.

Instead he said quietly, “I will _always_ put you first, Kathryn.”

He straightened, his fingers reaching to smooth the hair from her forehead but arresting themselves before the motion could be completed.

“Get some rest,” he said. “I’ll be on the bridge.”

She blinked back furious tears, turning her face from him as he walked away.

* * *

 

This was exactly the reason she had pulled away from him after their return from New Earth. She knew the strength of his feelings for her, and she knew they were dangerous.

And she’d just been proved right. She’d seen the look he’d exchanged with Ayala when she ordered them both out of the cave. There was warning in it, and an order that the lieutenant had chosen to obey over hers.

That could not happen again.

“Captain?”

Janeway turned her head. “Mr Ayala.” She flicked a glance toward the door Chakotay had just exited through. “How long have you been standing there?”

Ayala shifted on his feet. “Uh, just a few minutes, ma’am.”

Long enough, she deduced from his unease, to have heard her conversation with her first officer.

_Wonderful_.

“I came to see how you were feeling,” Ayala stumbled on.

With slightly more effort than she’d have liked, Janeway pushed herself up on her elbows. “As you can see, I’m fine, Lieutenant. I trust you’ve fully recovered?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.” She observed him steadily, then raised her voice. “Kes?”

She wasn’t surprised when Paris appeared at her side barely a moment later, exchanging a quick glance with Ayala as he explained he was filling in for Kes while she was off-duty. Apparently her conversation with Chakotay had been far less private than she’d hoped.

“Am I fit to be released from Sickbay?” she demanded.

“Uh, the Doctor left instructions for you to stay for observation for forty-eight hours,” Paris admitted.

Janeway reached out a hand and Paris helped her to sit upright. “Clearly that won’t be necessary. I’ll be back on duty tomorrow. And Mr Ayala,” she fixed him with a cold glare, “report to my ready room at 1600 hours.”

She thought she saw his shoulders slump a fraction. “Aye, Captain,” he mumbled.

“Dismissed,” she snapped, and he turned smartly on his heel.

Paris helped her to lie back down, fluffing pillows and adjusting blankets until she waved him off in irritation. But when she was alone, she could think of nothing but the look in Chakotay’s eyes when she’d kissed him. It was the same look she had seen when he told her he would always put her first.

All she wanted was to accept what he offered, but she couldn’t. The weight of never-ending years ahead was smothering, and the only thing she could see in her future was loneliness.


	5. Now - Stardate 54887.2

Of course, the years hadn’t been as lonely as she’d feared. Because although she couldn’t be with Chakotay in the way she wanted so desperately, he had always been her friend.

Her friend, who’d followed the order of his captain and returned to the bridge, despite the need she saw in his eyes to stay with her: both now and then.

_I will always put you first, Kathryn._

In his own way, she realised, he had.

He’d refused to leave her behind in the cavern on Exitia – a countermanding of her express orders, for which she’d placed him on report – but her fear that he would place her safety above his duty to the ship was unwarranted. She could count a number of times he’d made a hard call when she was unable to make it – the Borg alliance was one – in order to ensure the survival of the crew. Including herself. Even when it put his own life at risk.

That was what he’d been trying to tell her that day after the earthquake, she recognised. Not that he would damn the ship and crew if it meant saving her, but that he would sacrifice himself to keep her safe.

Janeway cupped her hands around the cup of insipid tea Chell had placed in front of her. The Doctor had sent to her quarters to rest for the afternoon, but after three hours of trying and failing to read a novel, she’d pulled on her uniform jacket and headed for the mess hall. It was dinner hour for Alpha shift and she’d felt the need to be with other people and away from the churn of her own thoughts.

She’d been here for over an hour now, sitting at her usual corner table with an untouched plate before her. The mess hall had almost emptied out save a few stragglers.

She couldn’t stop thinking about tonight, and Chakotay, and the decision she’d lived by for the past five years. The decision she was about to change.

_What if it’s a mistake?_

Janeway blew out a huff of frustration. _You’ve made your choice_ , she rebuked herself. _Now stop second-guessing yourself like a coward and get on with it_.

She checked the chronometer; still two hours until Chakotay was due at her quarters. She let her head drop forward on a groan. Two hours until she could see him, talk to him … kiss him … A shiver curled luxuriantly along her spine.

~Chakotay to Janeway.~

She sat up straight, trying to tame her smile as she slapped her combadge. “Janeway here.”

~I thought you’d appreciate a status update, Captain. All of the Saluvian power generators have been removed for inspection and the affected plasma conduits are being repaired.~

“Are you still on the bridge, Commander?”

There was a slight pause before his voice came through again, lower and softer. ~I’m in your ready room at the moment. I’ll be here for another hour or so until Tuvok relieves me.~

“Good,” she murmured, “because we have a date, and I expect you to be on time, Chakotay.”

~I can’t wait,~ came his silky reply. ~See you soon, Kathryn.~

She closed the channel and bowed her head, concealing the grin that wouldn’t be suppressed and hoping none of the late mealtime dawdlers were watching her.

* * *

 

On the other side of the almost deserted mess hall, Tom Paris sprawled lazily across the couch, watching Michael Ayala munch his way through a second heaped plate of food. “Where the hell do you put all that, Mike?” he asked idly.

“It all goes to my muscles,” Ayala mumbled around a mouthful.

Paris snorted. “Whatever you say, Rambo.”

“Huh?”

Paris waved a hand. “Never mind.” He glanced over at the corner table and its sole occupant. “How long d’you think she’s been sitting there?”

“No idea.”

“Did you catch the look on Chakotay’s face this afternoon when she got hurt? I thought he was going to pass out.”

Ayala rolled his eyes.

“Seriously though, what was all that about? _I’m not leaving you, Kathryn?_ You know, every time one of them winds up in Sickbay, the other one flat out refuses to leave their bedside.”

Ayala glared at his plate.

“Come on, you can’t tell me theirs is a purely professional relationship.”

Ayala put down his fork and turned his glare on his companion. “Do you ever stop talking, Paris?”

Paris settled back into the couch, grinning. “You know, there’s one way you could shut me up.”

“I’ll do anything.”

“Tell me what happened on Exitia.”

Determinedly, Ayala picked up his fork and shovelled in an enormous mouthful of stew.

“Have it your way,” Paris shrugged. His gaze drifted to Janeway, who had risen from her seat and was absently wandering toward the galley. “Look at her – she’s glowing. You think she’ll ever admit it to herself and put the big guy out of his misery?”

“For Christ’s sake,” Ayala scowled.

“Love,” Paris mused, “is a serious mental disease, and those two have got it bad.”

* * *

 

Despite the Doctor’s orders to abstain from caffeine for at least twenty-four hours, Janeway found herself standing in the galley, pouring herself a cup from the dregs of the pot Chell had left on the warmer. It was stale and lukewarm and it tasted magnificent.

Sighing in pleasure, she tipped her head back and closed her eyes.

“Didn’t I hear the Doctor order you away from coffee, Kathryn?”

She jerked upright at Chakotay’s low, amused voice. “Chakotay, you scared the hell out of me!”

“Sorry,” he grinned, leaning against the partition that separated the galley from the main mess hall and not looking sorry in the least.

“What are you doing here?” She couldn’t help the spread of her answering smile. “I thought you’d be on the bridge for another hour.”

“Tuvok gave me an early mark.” Chakotay pushed off the partition and ambled closer, taking the coffee from her suddenly nerveless hands. As he leaned to place it on the counter behind her she inhaled involuntarily and felt him go still.

Slowly, he turned his head to meet her widened eyes. Her gaze lowered to his lips and she felt her breath coming faster, her own lips parting at the sense memory of their one and only kiss, years before.

She felt as though she should say something to ensure that they understood the step they were about to take, that they were of the same mind. But as he dipped his head toward her, she found herself straining upward on tiptoe, her chin tilting to one side, her eyes closing.

And then his lips were on hers, and in a last moment of clarity before she fell into the pleasure and the relief and the absolute _rightness_ of being with him, she realised that they understood each other completely without the need for words.

* * *

 

Ayala scraped back his chair and picked up his plate.

“You finished, or are you going back for a third helping?” Paris drawled.

“I’m done.”

“Feel like coming back to mine for a drink? B’Elanna won’t be off shift for hours.”

“Aw, are you lonely, Paris?”

“Shut up.” Paris collected his empty glass and they moved toward the galley. “Of course, if you’re not interested in my fine selection of exotic liquors, you can – _whoa_.”

They’d rounded the partition and come to a shocked, immediate halt at the sight before them. Janeway was pressed up against the partition wall, Chakotay cradling her close with one arm around her waist. Their bodies were nestled together, her arms locked around his neck. They were kissing as though kisses had just been invented.

At the sound of Ayala’s plate crashing to the floor, the command team abruptly broke apart. Janeway’s face was flushed, lips swollen and hair in disarray. Chakotay was breathing hard as he put some distance between them.

“Not again,” Ayala mumbled.

Paris, predictably, was first to regain his aplomb. “Excuse us, Captain, Commander,” he said, not bothering to hide a mile-wide grin as he grabbed Ayala by the elbow and hustled him out of the galley.

“Oh God,” Janeway whispered, slumping against the wall.

Chakotay couldn’t help chuckling. “Our timing leaves a little to be desired.”

“Well, there goes any hope I had of keeping this between us.” She raised her head, mouth quirking to the side.

“Ayala will keep his mouth shut,” Chakotay assured her. Tentatively, he reached for her hand, and she let him take it.

“It’s not him I’m worried about.” Janeway gave a small tug and Chakotay stepped toward her.

“I’ll deal with Paris.” He rested his other hand on the wall beside her head. “You’re not having second thoughts about this, are you?”

She shook her head slowly. “I thought you were, though.”

Chakotay looked a question at her.

“You gave me back _Inferno_ ,” she explained haltingly. “I took that to mean that it … that _I_ … didn’t mean as much to you anymore.”

He hesitated, then let his hand rest on her shoulder. “To tell you the truth, I had decided to move on,” he admitted. “I just ... it’s been years, Kathryn, and I was losing hope you’d ever change your mind about us. I wasn’t even sure you felt anything for me. And then Seven asked me on a date, and I –”

“ _Seven_?” she blurted. “Seven of Nine asked you on a _date_?”

“She did.”

Janeway’s heart tripped. “And what did you say?”

“I said I was flattered, and that I’d get back to her.” He paused, tracing her cheekbone with the backs of his fingers. “I was considering saying yes. And then this morning…”

“This morning I made a pass at you.”

“Yes.” He smiled.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have done that,” she fretted. “Maybe this is a mistake.”

“Kathryn, would you stop –”

“Chakotay, if you’re interested in Seven, I don’t want to stand in your –”

“Shut up, Kathryn,” he said, and kissed her again.

* * *

 

“Well,” Tom Paris smirked as he pushed Ayala through the mess hall, “how was that for a surprise end to the evening?”

Ayala grumbled under his breath.

“Not such a surprise to you though, was it? What was that you said this morning when I said they should just kiss – ‘how do you know they haven’t already’?”

Ayala groaned aloud.

“Yeah,” Paris slung an arm around Ayala’s shoulders, “there’s definitely a story there. And now you’re going to tell me every little detail.”

“I hope you’re enjoying your last night as a lieutenant, Paris,” Ayala muttered as they exited the mess hall, “because if you don’t shut the hell up, you and I will both lose our pips.”


	6. Then - Stardate 50136.1

“Lieutenant Michael Ayala, you are guilty of insubordination, reckless endangerment and failure to follow rescue mission protocol. Do you have anything to offer in your defence?”

Ayala let his gaze drop from where it was fixed above the captain’s head, meeting her steely eyes. “I owed it to Chakotay.”

She lifted her chin. “Explain.”

“He saved my family five years ago when the Cardassians attacked our settlement.” Ayala’s jaw clenched. “If it weren’t for him, my wife and sons would be dead. I swore I’d repay him for that someday if I ever had the opportunity.” His eyes softened. “And I couldn’t let you die, Captain. He would never forgive me for it, and I’d never forgive myself.”

Janeway’s shoulders slumped a fraction. “I appreciate your bravery, Mr Ayala, and I’m well aware I probably wouldn’t be alive today without you. But you disobeyed my direct order.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You allowed your personal concerns to override your duty to follow Starfleet procedures, and in doing so you put Commander Chakotay’s life at risk.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

 “I have no choice but to demote you to the rank of ensign.” She reached to unpin the rank insignia from his collar, replacing it with a bar with one silver stripe. “You’re confined to quarters for two days, during which time you will reacquaint yourself with the rules and regulations all Starfleet officers are duty bound to follow.”

She paused, one hand fluttering back to brace against her desk, and Ayala saw the bone-deep pain and fatigue in her eyes before the mask descended again.

“Dismissed.”

* * *

 

“Come in,” Ayala called at the chime.

He wasn’t surprised to see Chakotay enter his quarters, favouring his left leg.  Ayala waved him to a chair, getting up to pour a second glass of _patxaran_.

“Thanks.” Chakotay threw back the liquor and grimaced. “Damn. Still makes my eyes water.”

Ayala’s mouth twisted. “It’s my second-last bottle from home. I figured being sent to time-out was a good enough occasion to open it.”

The first officer propped his injured leg up on the coffee table as Ayala poured them both a refill. They clinked glasses, tossed them back.

“How’s the leg?”

Chakotay shrugged. “Doc says it’ll be fine after a few physiotherapy sessions. Could’ve been worse.”

“Yeah. You could’ve died.”

Chakotay met Ayala’s stare. “But I didn’t.”

Ayala nodded. “The captain was pretty pissed with me.”

“So I see.” Chakotay flicked a finger at Ayala’s new rank insignia.

“She’s pretty pissed with you, too.”

“I’ll live with it,” Chakotay said, then smiled. “And so will she.”

“Amen to that.”

Ayala leaned forward to uncap the bottle again.

“So,” he said with practiced nonchalance after they’d downed their third shot, “you going to tell me what I walked in on, down in that cave?”

“Absolutely not.”

“You kissed her,” Ayala pointed out. “And from what I could see, she was kissing you right back.”

Chakotay stared at him evenly.

“Come on, boss. It’s me.”

Chakotay stayed silent.

“Okay, I get it,” Ayala shrugged. “You don’t want to talk about it.”

“No, I don’t,” the commander retorted through gritted teeth. “And if I ever hear the faintest whisper of this from anyone on this ship, I’ll know exactly who’s been talking, _Ensign_.”

Ayala held up his hands to placate him. “My lips are sealed.”

“Good. Make sure they stay that way.” Chakotay heaved himself to his feet, pausing before he reached the doorway. “And Mike…”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks. For saving her.”

“Anytime.”


	7. Now - Stardate 54887.4

“If you think getting drunk is going to make me forget about what we just saw, you can think again,” Tom Paris drawled, propping his boots on the low sofa table.

Ayala sloshed another healthy serve of alcohol into his glass. “Paris, what is it going to take to get you to shut the hell up?”

“The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth,” Paris sing-songed. “So come on, buddy. Cough it up.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Ayala stared at him evenly. “Because I promised.”

Paris opened his mouth to wheedle but was interrupted by the door chime.

“Come in,” he called.

Into Paris’ quarters strode the first officer, shoulders squared and face set in forbidding lines.

“Chakotay, what a pleasant surprise.” Paris’ tone was laconic. “We were just talking about you.”

“No, we weren’t,” growled Ayala.

“Cut the crap, Paris.” Chakotay reached out to slap Paris’ boot off the low table and the younger man shifted upright in his seat. “Listen to me carefully, because I’m only going to say this once: You saw nothing tonight. Understand me? And if I ever hear anything to the contrary, no matter how oblique, I’ll be coming for you.”

“Say no more,” Paris replied, raising his hands. “Message received loud and clear.”

“Good.” Chakotay’s glare swept over him, turned to encompass Ayala, then swung back to Paris. He nodded once and headed for the door.

“Chakotay,” Paris called, getting to his feet.

“What?” snarled the commander.

“I’m happy for you,” the pilot answered, and Chakotay turned to read the sincerity in his eyes. “For both of you. You deserve it.”

A hint of a smile softened Chakotay’s features.

As the door slid shut behind him Paris settled back into his chair and raised a glass to his drinking companion. “So, now that that’s sorted, why don’t you tell me the story of how you got yourself demoted?”

“You just don’t give up, do you?” Ayala snorted out a laugh. “Okay, fine, but you didn’t hear it from me…”

**Author's Note:**

> Now that this story has undergone judgement I can post my sabotages...
> 
> I wrote to the following sabotages for the prompt challenge I do with Helen9462:
> 
> 1\. Late season fic (or post 'Endgame') say, seasons 4-7 that looks back on or at least references something that happened in the earlier seasons.  
> 2\. You have to use in some way, an officer of every color uniform. (Red, Yellow, Blue).  
> BONUS: Spirit guide mention.
> 
> And I wrote to the following sabotages for the JC Cutthroat Fiction comp:
> 
> 1\. The fic must contain a flashback scene  
> 2\. The fic must be a ‘bucket’ (limited location) scene, with most of it set in the mess hall and some in Tom’s quarters.
> 
> (Fortunately, I was allowed to set the flashback scenes in other locations or this would’ve been a really dull story.)
> 
> Also, I wanted to address a canon continuity issue: Why was Ayala made a lieutenant in 'Caretaker', referred to himself as an ensign in 'The Gift', and became a lieutenant again after that (if you go by screen caps, he was promoted by 'The Raven')? Mystery solved.


End file.
